


Scenes from a War

by runsinthefamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Season Six Spoilers, War, even Heaven ships it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily





	Scenes from a War

A plain in Northern Sudan, dry brown soil studded with dry brown plants. Here and there a solitary baobab or acacia to break the monotony.

And, of course, the bodies.

Human, some of them. A whole _usrah_ , some twenty-odd family members, lay scattered. Blood made dark ideograms on their clothing, on the arid ground. What camels and other animals had not been slain outright int he first attack either screamed their wounded pain or were rapidly vanishing dust on the horizon.

Angels, too, lay crumpled in the dust, the burnt shadows of their wings overlapping. The fighting had been fierce. Those of Raphael's Host did not flee a battle, even when it was lost. Castiel looked across the carnage, the blood of his brothers and sisters still layered on his blade, on his hands, and felt a sorrow so deep and profound it bordered on despair.

"Castiel." It was Rachel, kicking up dust with each footfall. She had their prize under one arm, snugged in tight to her side. "Where shall we take her?"

The girl, perhaps thirteen, looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

" _Be of good cheer_ ," he told her, in Arabic. " _You are safe with us._ "

" _Mala'ikah_ ," the girl whispered. 

" _Yes,_ " he said. " _We are angels_."

" _But why ..._ " she asked, tears rising in her eyes. " _My family - and ..._ " she cast a horrified look at the nearest dead angel, someone's silver sword still standing up from her chest. " _Surely Allah could not have commanded you to fight one another!_ "

" _You are special_ ," Castiel began, but she was not hearing him. She had squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against Rachel's side. 

" _There is no God but God and Mohammed is his prophet ..._ " he heard her whisper fervently into the dark blue of Rachel's jacket. 

He sighed, reached out two fingers, and sent her to sleep. Rachel caught her up easily, cradling her like a babe.

"Where, Castiel?" Rachel asked. 

"There is an Imam in Khartoum," he said. "Mahmood Hassan Aboud. Take her to him. Tell him she is a prophet."

"A human?"

"A holy man," said Castiel. "And a hunter. And an Enochian scholar."

"Ah," said Rachel. 

"Tell the others - " Castiel paused, looking across the battleground, at the frayed remnants of his strike team. 

"I will tell them to expect your call," said Rachel. "When next you need us." She smiled at him, her eyes full of faith and hope, and it warmed him. 

There was much that required his attention, other battles being fought even now, but as he spread his wings he felt it - the familiar tug at his Grace that meant his name was being spoken in prayer. 

_**Castiel, oh ye of the trenchcoat, hear my drunken rambling. Cas. You there?**_

He turned his face from Heaven and went to North Dakota, where a black Chevy Impala sat outside a roadside motel with Dean Winchester on its hood.


End file.
